


Served Up Neat

by Shejo



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, F/M, Just good good country barry, Just light alcohol they're chillin' at the tavern, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 08:09:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15904314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shejo/pseuds/Shejo
Summary: She sits underneath neon that illuminates her back in ways that shows off just how muscular she is from her workouts and sparring matches with Magnus. The "V" shape of the top she wears dips just low enough to almost touch the waistband of her high-rise jeans. He knows when she finally stands, she'll be a knockout.





	Served Up Neat

**Author's Note:**

> As always mutual credit goes to @ frostbytesdomain on tumblr for always reading my smut.

Blue fairy light cantrips cast shadows on sawdust and damp, beer-soaked wood. There are few patrons in the bar when Barry enters. A band sets up in the corner to play for coins, and no one bothers to look up from their mugs as he makes his way toward the bar.

She sits underneath neon that illuminates her back in ways that shows off just how muscular she is from her workouts and sparring matches with Magnus. The "V" shape of the top she wears dips just low enough to almost touch the waistband of her high-rise jeans. He knows when she finally stands, she'll be a knockout.

He pulls up a stool beside her. "Seems a shame," he says, throws her a lazy smile he hasn't used in at least 80 years.

"What's that, cowboy?" she asks with a chaser of well whiskey.

"That a lady like you should be drinkin' alone in a place like this."

The grin she flashes is wolfish as she calls to the barkeep. "A shooter for my good lookin' friend here. The good good stuff."

The bartender, a gruff Dwarven man, pulls out a bottle of amber wrapped in a black label.

"That's sippin' whiskey there darlin'," Barry says. "Everyone knows you, uh, don't shoot sippin' whiskey."

"I do," she says and it pierces straight to his heart. It's simple. A fact of life that she will break any and all rules. "So, what's your name cowboy?"

"Barry Bluejeans. You?"

"Dixie. Dixie Normous." And Barry almost shoots the liquor right out of his nose.

"Aw come on, Lu, that's not fair."

It's silly really. That they come to this tavern every few weeks to play this game, but it excites him. It's nostalgic even – for nights that Barry hardly remembers, but were youthful and rollicking.

Lup laughs now, too. Her hand is on his arm where it makes slow, sensuous motions against rough skin and hair. She calls for two highballs of whatever she was drinking before he got here and never takes her eyes off him. Gods, he feels like he could do anything when she looks at him like that. He could take on the Hunger with only his bare hands.

"You look like you wanna beat your chest and throw me over your shoulder like a caveman," she says as she slips some coin across the counter to the Dwarf.

"Not quite yet," he says with a sip of his drink. He leans against the bar, tilts his hat up with his thumb. He has a better look at her outfit now with a neckline that plunges in the front just as much as it did in the back and a necklace made of turquoise somehow not too bulky on the angular valley of her chest. It almost distracts him from the hardened nipples that are on complete display in front of him. _Almost_.

"Why not?" she asks with feigned insult.

"Because I haven't even asked you to dance and you just bought my drink."

"What can I say? I know what I want."

Barry tries to shift his hip in an attempt to hide the hard-on that rises in his fantasy Wrangler's. She sure knows how to make it difficult to take it slow.

A fiddle whines and that's his cue to lead her onto the floor. It's a jaunty two-step, enough for a warmup without cutting _too_ much of a rug. He spins her out with a flourish, which she revels in as bystanders only watch in their seats.

Barry brings her back to him; her hair is flame that billows behind her as she tosses her head. Her shoulders follow the sway of his. Their hips follow right behind.

He must look goofy. Lovestruck. Because she says, "Those eyes will make a girl weak, Barry." And that makes _him_ weak. He never did like the muddy hazel of his eyes, especially as he aged, but how can he deny a compliment from Lup Taaco?

The song slows into another. It's familiar this time. They draw each other close—cheek to cheek. Barry can smell the spice of whiskey, the sweetness of flowery perfume, and the slightest bitterness of cigarette smoke on her neck. They find a grind even in this easy tune.

She must feel the boner he popped a while ago because she sighs with half-lidded eyes. He blushes, but he's unashamed of how turned on he is by her. How he can't wait to get her upstairs.

"Nice buckle there, Champ," Lup says, breath hot in his ear. Coy as always.

"Got that for being the best bulldogger in the circuit. I think I was, uh, 19?"

She hums, and it's damn near a moan against his collar. Her fingers dance on top of the silver of the buckle.

Of course, she already knows the story, and the scar that resulted from a horn that pierced his side. She just wants to hear it again.

He guides his hand around her back, a gentle and brief cup of her ass. " _You're as warm as a glass of brandy. And honey I stay stoned on your love all the time. . ._ "

Lup almost goes slack at the dulcet tones against her hair. He would blame drink if he didn't know perfectly well that the country-boy shit wasn't exactly what she wanted. That and the fact that Lup could even beat him when it came to holding her alcohol.

Her hand moves from his chest to wind in the hair at the back of his neck. The way "Bear. . ." falls from her mouth lands heavy on the smoke in the room—That's all he needs.

Before he knows it, the door to their room for the night slams behind them, and he's sure the patrons of the bar are probably glad to know that the mating ritual will not in fact be carried out in front of them.

Lup makes quick work of the pearl snaps on his shirt as liquor-coated lips follow her deft hands. Her eyes never leave his even when she pulls his belt open.

"So much for whiskey-dick," she says, giddy.

"Ah. . .y-yeah," Barry manages to gasp. "Not gonna stop my guy when it comes to a pretty lady."

"It's a wide boy you got there, Bluejeans." She's still on the game.

She drops to her knees, throws her hair over her shoulder with bottom lip caught between her teeth.

Barry gulps and tries to roll with the desire that pools in his gut rather than get consumed by it, but what Lup does next, he's unprepared for.

She shoves at the neckline of her top, her necklace long gone by now, and presents two perky breasts which she palms. The lusty depths of her eyes have Barry's transfixed. There's a question in the air that she answers with a push forward.

Barry was always more of an ass man, but Lup's body in all ways has never been anything short of exquisite. And he definitely can appreciate the way she's made a perfect "baby arm" shaped spot between the peaks as she presses him against herself.

"Fuck, Lup," he says and has to brace himself against the dresser. He rolls his gaze to the ceiling because he knows she's smug. Even being titty-fucked, she is fierce, confident. And Barry won't be able to keep it together if he stares that kind of unabashed ferocity in the face.

The noises he makes are high like pleas to the Gods. He hopes that if they are listening, that they compel his wife to not stop what she's doing. He can't help but move his hips with her.

Fuck, if she doesn't know exactly what she does to him.

He feels the tip of her tongue glide across his head and his body lurches forward. "W-whoa! Shit," he exclaims.

"Did you almost nut?" she asks.

"B-babe!"

It's good-natured. Her lips curl into a smile and Barry wonders how he could've been so remiss as to not have kissed her before now.  He has to fix that.

He brings her flush against him to settle in the warm space of his arms. She tilts her head to accept his open-mouthed, earnest kisses.

They shed clothes in a flurry as Barry guides her backwards to the bed where he falls over her.

Lup clutches him close, basks in his mouth that sucks and bites at the skin of her jaw and neck. He leaves marks all the way to the swell of her breasts. She knocks his hat away and to the floor to grab at his hair once more.

"Bear," she gasps before she swings one of her legs to roll them over. She pins him by the shoulders.

Oh, so it's one of _those_ nights. Well, far be it from Barry to disregard a lady's true desires. Now, it's Lup that scratches at his sides; Lup who lets her lips trail a lovingly rough route across his skin.

A bite makes Barry yelp so loud that he covers his own mouth. Lup "tut-tuts" above him and removes his hand.

"No fair, Bluejeans," she says. "Everyone present in this room knows you're a closet screamer."

He doesn't even argue, just grinds against her in an attempt to move her along.

She settles between his legs and says, "So impatient."

He hears her mutter beneath her breath and feels her prod with a fingertip. A sigh of relief escapes him as he rocks against her hand to bring her deeper.

She lavishes him with her mouth and hands—a nipple tweak, a suck at the inside of his soft thigh—all full of adoration and all the while she slides one more finger into him.

Barry clutches at the sheets, tries to turn his head to the side to muffle himself in the pillow, but it only comes out needier than if he were to voice his pleasure at full volume.

She looks up at him through the fan of her lashes. It's sultry.

"So good for me, Bear," she keens as she admires the thorough finger-blast she gives him. "Gonna give you so much more."

And then—he's on all fours, ready for Lup to fuck him.

His elbows buckle just the slightest when she takes a couple of swipes of her tongue over his rim. It's always as he's coming down from one sensation that she compounds with another. Teeters him on a sharp edge.

"O-oh, come on!" he grunts. "You're trying to kill me, aren't you?"

"Only a couple more months until the next cycle." He can hear the amusement in her response.

"Oh ha-ha—" She cuts him off with tight flicks of the tip of her tongue, feather-light. It must've been then that Barry shifted forward, ass in the air, because he's hyper aware of it now with her mouth on him.

Her hand comes down in a hard smack as she pulls off. The "Oh, yes!" that erupts from Barry's chest is so reflexive, so right that he can't even be flustered by it though he feels heat rise in his cheeks.

Lup kisses him and slides herself inside. Barry lets his chin drop to his chest while he groans. She wiggles her hips when she's buried to the hilt as though she wants to be very sure they fit snug together. They both hum their joint appreciation.

Her hands hold him firm and draw him back onto her clit with a snap. Barry swears.

Barry always did like doggy-style for no other reason than to leave himself as bare as possible to her, to let her truly delight in him. How could the most beautiful woman Pan ever placed in all the planes love nothing more than to see his old, nerdy ass in the air?

There's a brief nudge at his entrance that grounds Barry once more. His breath already catches in his throat before Lup draws back to add the thickness of her fingers inside him.

"You sure do take it like you give it, cowboy," she teases, but the desperation is not lost on him as she quickens her pace. Sweat builds on the backs of his knees.

She rivals the thuds of the headboard with her shouts, her praises in his ear as she leans over him to lay kisses on his back when she starts to rail him.

Her other hand reaches to wrap around his dick, which is such a welcome reprieve from the oppressive hardness caused by Lup's teasing that Barry sobs out a grateful noise.

She takes the cartilage of ear between her teeth and growls. "Sh-shit. You feel good for me."

Barry can only whine in response as she fucks him hard and deliberate.

It's the way she's draped over him—the whiskey that evaporates off their heated bodies, the softness of her hand—that brings him off. He doesn't quite hear the words she coos to him as she careens him over the edge, only knows that they're full of love and encouragement as he spills over her hand. She finishes soon after in a deep, strong thrust. His name is a breathy pant in his hair after such exertion.

They part and collapse beside each other, eyes at the ceiling. Barry braces his heart with his hand, half afraid it could go out at any moment. _But what a way to go_ , he thinks.

He's brought back from his thoughts by Lup's fingertips that dance on his cheek. "Your glasses are crooked," she says.

"That'll happen sometimes," Barry says, and pulls the fur blanket of their bed over them. He kisses her sweet. No way this is gonna be the last round.

 

 

In the morning, Barry orders a scramble at the bar. Lup is beside him, hand on his thigh as she admires the handiwork of her lips across his skin.

"And some smoked sausage for the lady," Barry says—All mischief and marital bliss.

"Ooh, you're bad, big boy," she says as she slips her other hand into his back pocket and pinches.

"Hey buddy," a patron calls from across the tavern. "You kept half the place up last night. It yer honeymoon or somethin'?"

"Nope," Barry says, not the slightest bit concerned that they hadn't cast silence last night. He doesn't even look in the guy's direction because all there is, is Lup's satisfied brown-eyed gaze. "Just a weekend with the missus."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song "Dance or Drink" by Shotgun Rider
> 
> Their Tavern Dance tunes are: "I'm Not Alright" by Shotgun Rider and "Tennessee Whiskey" by Chris Stapleton
> 
> Also there will be another version posted on tumblr in a couple days with Top!Barry, which the piece was originally and then I very quickly changed my mind.


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